
H543‘?4j 


ilR^oi^Ti mcTcLle s 






" *i5 • ii:- "i* ■>!•'■'■ 

:• ’■ . !* '^ ■ . '- • '•• 

■ .'■ •• •- ■•■.'"5. ' ; . ;?p ‘T 


..r 4:K; ' r ;., - 







% ^ 





» 4 





..V. • 



,-'*/.? O- ^ 


» MS' '. ' ^ - 

^w* 




.4v.w .'.-■-^'-Aiw 


' T T 




':!fr 

' xT * * 

► > . 


y ■• •* ' , • •• ► i fc ■ « 





^ ' 



•S I*" 


i 


-r. ' ^ 







f f ' V J * V • V« , 


*.1 ^ ■ 









> « 


L. H. -•*■•; 






A : 


» 




i 


• •A’’ 


i^; 


• i^ 






MMk=« > « 

^ «.• 


>• 


■ -f 


> ^ 









i-v: i 

• A ■ j& 





V 






1 ? •;'•%■ ■ 

»Xc^* ri . « 



■^4 -i 


>\2 







DIRK DISCOVERS EDA’S MESSAGE 



TPHE- \ 
/^RVE1> 

And Oilien Holla-nd Tklas' 


/ STORl'ES AMD PICTURES' BY \ 

Violet- Moore H i n^' ' 

AUTHOR OF"THE‘EHDLE?y FTORY/' ^THE LOST G 1 ATSt"etC 



"WHITMAM PUBUSHIMQ CO. 
PACltSE — i — CHICAGO. 


o 


COPYRIGHTED. iqi8 BY 

"J^itmat^Tublishing Co* 

R^CIIME' • • C-HLC^QO 





©Cl A563894 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Dirk Discovi:rs Eda’s Message 

{Color Frontispiece) 

Illustrated Title Page 3 

The Little Girl Set the Bread Aside 
{color) 16 

The Boy was a Real Artist 23 

Anneke Washing Clothes in the 
Canal {color) 32 

Anneke Drew Out a Small Leather 
Bag 39 

Eda Waiting for Dirk to Return 
With Mynheer Kaptain {color) ... 49 

Mynheer Kaptain was the Only 
Bachelor 60 


Eda Caught Him Up in Her Arms. . 64 



DEDICATION 

TO MY COUSINS AND 
FRIENDS, OLIVE AND 
GARDINER AYRES 


0 




INTRODUCTION 


AIRY TALES and legends have 
come down to us from nearly every 
country on the globe, and so it is 
surprising to find how few of these legends 
are woven about the interesting little country 
called Holland, or The Netherlands. After 
a little thought, however, the reason becomes 
clear. 

Holland is a strange country. The great- 
er part of it lies below the level of the sea, 
which is kept back by means of great earthen 
walls or dykes. The low swampy land thus 
enclosed has been drained by hundreds of 
windmills pumping the sea water into the 
many canals that cross the country in every 
direction. 

To keep their country free from enemies, 
great and small, the greatest being the sea it- 
self, and to raise crops on the reclaimed marsh- 
es, the Hollanders have always had to work 
very hard, through long days and often into 



INTRODUCTION 


viii 

the night. Many a time at midnight the men 
and women of a village have been aroused by 
the loud tolling of a warning bell, and have 
hurried out to mend the dyke and save Hol- 
land from the sea. Indeed the most famous 
Dutch story that has been handed down to us 
is that of the hero of Haarlem, the little boy 
who thrust his hand into a hole in the dyke 
and held it there until men came to mend the 
break. 

So you see Hollanders have little time 
either to tell stories or to listen to them. But 
sometimes in the winter evenings, when fam- 
ilies are gathered about their hearths or 
around the porcelain stoves, and the men and 
boys are carving or mending nets, while the 
women and girls, even the smallest, are knit- 
ting heavy woolen socks, the grandmother, her 
fingers flying and the needles flashing as she 
talks, may tell some tale of Holland. 

So, let us pretend we are sitting in some 
cozy Dutch cottage beside the sea, the wind 
and the waves roaring outside, the Are crack- 
ling cheerily within, and a score of knitting 
needles clicking away, and that we are listen- 
ing to an old, old Holland woman telling 
these stories of little Dutch boys and girls of 
long ago. V. M. H. 



The Carved Shoes 



ONG years ago, there lived in the Duteh 


city of Leiden, a little boy and girl 
who were very fond of each other. The 
boy was named Doren Terlinder, and 
he was the only son of Leiden’s richest 
merchant. Mynheer Nicolas Terlinder. The 
little girl, however, was very poor, the 
danghter of a woodcarver, and was 
named Anneke Vedder. 

Doren Terlinder lived in a very 


9 


10 


THE CARVED SHOES 


splendid house, with a high roof of 
bright eolored tiles. There was a walled 
garden stretehing away at the haek 
toward a fine stable full of sleighs and 
blooded horses to pull them about. It was 
a magnifieent sight when Mynheer Ter- 
linder and his family drove through the 
streets of Leiden, the silver harness 
rattling, and the coaehman cracking his 
long whip. 

Little Anneke did not live far from 
Doren’s splendid home, indeed the rear 
of her house was separated from the 
Terlinder stables only by a narrow alley 
or lane, but for the difference in the 
two homes, it might well have been 
across the world. It was only a tiny two- 
room hut, tacked onto a great ware- 
house. It was shabby too, patched here and 


THE CARVED SHOES 11 

there with all sorts of odds and ends, 
and if it had ever heen painted, the weather 
had long since worn the paint away, and 
turned the walls a dull gray. 

Doren’s clothes were as splendid as his 
house, and he had many of them. Ac- 
cording to the fashion of the time, he 
wore velvet suits, in rich dark shades, 
with collars and cuffs of soft white 
lace. His shoes, instead of the heavy 

wooden ones so common in his country, 
were of fine leather, with big silver buckles, 
and there were buckles at the knees 

of his baggy knickerbockers. For street 
wear, he added a long full cape, and 
a high-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hat, 
also with a big silver buckle on it. 

Little Anneke on the contrary, had 
few clothes, and those few were worn 


12 


THE CARVED SHOES 


and shabby, patched in a dozeii places and 
faded with much washing. In summer 
she wore no stockings, in order to save 
the heavy gray wool ones, knitted by 
her own small hands, and her feet were 
thrust into clumsy wooden shoes. 

But in spite of all these differences, 
Doren and Anneke were friends. They 
had not always known each other. In- 
deed, Anneke was a little over nine, 
and Doren just ten when they met. It 
came about in a strange way. 

Doren had many servants to wait on 
him, scores of beautiful toys to play 
with, a tutor who came every morning 
to give him his lessons, and a mother 
who adored him. There was the lovely 
garden to frolic in, too, but it is hard 
to play alone, and Doren was very lone- 


THE CARVED SHOES 13 

ly. He had no brothers and sisters, nor 
even any little cousins, and his father 
would not let him mingle with 
the boys and girls who played in the 
streets outside the garden, and whose 
laughter often floated over the high walls 
to him. So his dearest wish, the de- 
sire for a playmate, was the only thing 
the boy was denied. 

One day — it was his tenth birthday, 
and it had been especially dull, in 
spite of a cake and many fine pres- 
ents — he wandered hstlessly down the 
garden path, and into the stables. At 
the back a small door stood open, and 
Doren could catch a glimpse of a nar- 
row lane and buildings beyond. There 
was no one about for the moment, and 
so he quietly slipped through the little 


14 THE CARVED SHOES 

door closing it gently behind him. Then 
he looked up and down the alley for a 
moment, undecided which way to go, 
when suddenly he caught the sound of 
singing. It came from a point almost 
directly opposite his own gate, and he 
ran toward the sound. A high wall in- 
terposed, but it was broken here and 
there, affording an excellent foothold. 
The next instant, flushed and breath- 
less, Doren was perched on the top of 
the wall, looking down into a new 
world. In the tiny courtyard before a 
shahhy httle hut, a girl was kneading 
bread in a big bowl placed on a rickety 
bench, and she was singing as she 
worked. She had a round rosy face 
framed in a plain white cap, and Doren 
thought he had never seen anyone who 
looked so happy. 


THE CARVED SHOES 15 

“Good morning,” he said politely from 
his perch on the wall. The little girl 
started at his voice, looked up, and then 
gave him a smile that made her face 
shine like sunlight. “Greetings to you, 
stranger,” she answered and went on with 
her work. 

“My name is Doren,” the boy said 
simply, “I’m coming down,” and with- 
out hesitation he jumped down beside her. 
“What’s your name?” 

“Anneke,” she rephed, “and that’s 
Jan, my father.” 

Doren looked around quickly, and dis- 
covered that a man was sitting on a 
bench near the door of the house. He 
was as shabby as the hut itself, and as 
busy as his little daughter. In his left 
hand he held a block of soft white 


16 


THE CARVED SHOES 


wood, and with a sharp knife he was 
carving wonderful designs upon it. He 
looked up for an instant, with a bright 
smile like Anneke’s, then bent to his 
work. The little girl finished kneading 
the bread, covered it with a clean cloth, 
and set it aside to rise. Then she crossed 
to where Doren stood fascinated by Jan 
Vedder’s skill with the knife. 

“He is a great carver, the father,” she 
said proudly. “He makes images of 
saints for the churches, and panels for 
homes of the rich, and all sorts of lovely 
things.” 

“He must make a great deal of money,” 
Doren said with a new respect for Jan’s tal- 
ents. The man laughed, but sadly, and An- 
neke spoke up quickly. 

“He would, if we had money enough 



THE LITTLE GIRL SET THE BREAD ASIDE 




f 


i 


I 




& 




•% 


• t 


<** ’ 


\ 












« 


4 


« 


y 


I ^ 




% 





p 


•« 







/ 

* 




I 


r 


» 



■ « 








< 


r 


» 






I 




% 




I 


I 

I 


r 


* 


1 






I 


I 


»/ 


I 




I 




\ A 



t 







» 




i . 


I 


I 




r ' * 



4 


I 






? 


r 


f 


. 9 


I 



t 

V 


» » 


• > '« 
< 









/ 








ff 


# 


» 



a 

4 








» 


* 




I 


a 


> 


-w> 



< 


t 


I 



i 





<1 


I « 


THE CARVED SHOES 


17 


to Start his own shop, but now he works 
for a master earver, and gets but a 
mere handful.” Her childish voice was 
full of anger and tears. Then sudden- 
ly she darted into the hut, and came 
out again carrying a wooden doll. “See,” 
she cried, “father carved that for my 
last birthday. It shows that he is a 
master carver.” 

It was indeed a wonderful doll, with 
cleverly jointed arms and legs, but like 
the httle girl herself, it was dressed in 
patches and faded garments. 

“And see these,” Anneke went on, 
pointing to a pair of small wooden ornaments 
on either side of her cap. Rich Dutch chil- 
dren wore silver and gold fasteners there, 
but none could have been loveher than 
the wooden rosebuds which held Anneke’s 


18 THE CARVED SHOES 

plain cap in place. A scroll ran around the 
flowers and there were words on it. “What 
does it say?” Doren asked. 

Anneke’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, 
and she drew off her cap and held it 
out to him. “I — I cannot read,” she 
said in a low voice. 

“Cannot read,” echoed Doren in 
amazement — “why — why — ” 

“We are not rich hke you, young mas- 
ter,” the man spoke up gently, “and I can- 
not afford to send my little Anneke 
to the school. Then I must needs 
keep busy carving all the day, and into 
the night sometimes, to earn our bare 
living, so I have no time to teach her 
myself.” 

Doren stood silent for a moment, 
turning over in his mind this strange 


THE CARVED SHOES 19 

fact. He did not particularly enjoy his 
lessons to be sure — he was a real boy, but 
not to be able to read — oh, that would 
not do at all. A great idea slowly shaped it- 
self, and suddenly he brought it out in a 
rush of words. 

“I want to learn to carve,” he 

cried. “I will pay you gold to teach me — 
and then I’ll teach Anneke reading, my- 

self.” 

Jan Vedder looked up, and let his 
work drop in his apron, in sheer amaze- 
ment. “But you are rich, young mas- 

ter,” he cried . “You do not need to 
work.” 

“I want to — it is beautiful — I shall love 
to do it,” the boy persisted. “I will 
give you gold — ” 

“But your parents,” Jan objected. 


20 THE CARVED SHOES 

“Mother will say I may,” Doran laughed. 
“I’ll go ask her now, and tomorrow 

I’ll come for my first lesson,” and he 

ran to the wall, climbed it nimbly, 
gave them a last wave of the hand, and was 
gone. 

Mevrouw Terlinder had never seen her 
little son so gay and animated as when 
he burst into her room, and proffered 
his strange request. He told the whole 

story, keeping back just one detail. He said 
not a word about Anneke, for he felt sure that 
his mother would say he must ask 

father’s permission. If Mynheer Terlinder 
did not want his son to play with the 
well dressed children in their own row, 
what would he say to Anneke, in her 
patched and faded dress? 

“You must ask your father,” Mevrouw 


THE CARVED SHOES 


21 


said when he had finished. Doren did, 
that night at dinner. It had heen a 
good day for the merchant. Several 
ships had retnrned with rich cargoes, and 
one that was helieved lost had come in, 
besides, it was the boy’s birthday, so 
after a few moments. Mynheer laughed 
genially and gave his consent. 

“After all, why not?” he said. “It hurts 
no one to have a skilled hand. But 
mind — don’t cut any fingers off.” 

So the matter was settled. Each after- 
noon Doren appeared in the little court- 
yard, and for more than an hour, patient 
Jan Vedder showed him how to hold 
the knife and the block of wood, and 
for another hour the boy and girl sat 
bent over a first reader, he pointing out the 
strange characters, and she wrinkling her 


n THE CARVED SHOES 

brows and repeating them after him. It 
was early spring when the lessons began. If 
the weather was fine, they all sat in 
the courtyard, but when it rained, they 
huddled about the tiny charcoal stove in 
the hut. 

Though all the furnishings were worn 
and old, everything was scrupulously 
clean, a proof of Anneke’s ability as a house- 
keeper, and he grew to feel entirely at 
home in the place. He was making sur- 
prising progress as a wood carver. Jan 
was delighted. The hoy was a real art- 
ist. At first his teacher had traced all the 
designs onto the wood for him, but as 
his hand grew more skillful, Doren be- 
gan to work out little ideas of his 
own, and it was a proud moment for him 
when he presented his mother with a 









THE BOY WAS A REAL ARTIST 





/ 

24 THE CARVED SHOES 

pair of candle sticks, entirely his own 

work and design. 

Anneke was making progress too. She 
had soon gone through the first reader and 
was well into the second, when suddenly 
all the joy was ended abruptly. Mynheer 
Terhnder took it into his head one day to 
visit the carving lesson, quite unan- 
nounced. Unfortunately he came a httle 
late, and found his son, who would one 
day be the richest man in Leiden, sitting 
on the doorstep of a hovel, his head 
bent over a book, and close beside him a 
“ragged little beggar child,” to use his 
own harsh words. 

The next few moments were hard for 
everyone but Mynheer Terlinder. Jan Ved- 
der heard himself called a worthless rogue 
and threatened with all sorts of calami- 


THE CARVED SHOES 25 

ties, and though his face grew pale, he 
dared not answer, and Anneke crouched 
against his shoulder, crying and trembhng 
with fear. Finally when he had spent 
his wrath somewhat. Mynheer Terhnder 
marched off, dragging Doren along with 
him, and the boy was sobbing too. 

Three days passed, and Doren was so 
pale and silent that his father began to 
be alarmed, and to repent somewhat of 
his haste. The third evening he came 
home full of a great plan to amuse the 
boy. A travehng showman had brought 
a dancing bear to Leiden. He was to dance 
in the public square that night. There 
were seats built for the rich, close around the 
bear, the poor people must stand at a 
distance, and crane their necks for a 
view. Mynheer Terhnder had bought 


26 THE CARVED SHOES 

three of the most expensive seats and pro* 
posed to take Mevrouw and Doren. 
Even that prospect did not seem to make 
the boy happy. He permitted himself to 
be made ready, but there was no enthusiasm 
in his manner. Nor did the bear’s an- 
tics serve to cheer him. He was glum 
and silent through it all and as they 
started to force their way through the 
crowd to the Terlinder carriage, he had not 
a word to say. ” V; 

It was a very dark night, and except for 
the brightly hghted square the streets of 
Leiden were in deep gloom. The carriage 
stood at some little distance away, around 
a comer, and the three walked slowly 
toward it, picking their way carefully 
over the rough cobblestones of the pave- 
ment. Suddenly Doren felt his arms 


THE CARVED SHOES 27 

grasped roughly from behind, but before 
he eould ery out a heavy cloth was 
flung over his head and shoulders, so that 
it muffled him completely, and he felt 
himself hurried rapidly along, in some un- 
known direction. Presently he was pushed 
into a carriage, and his captors followed. 
Doren knew by the different cushions and 
the absence of a floor carpet that this 
was not the Terlinder carriage, and he felt 
more curiosity than fear as to where he 
was being taken. When the cloth had 
been taken off his head he realized that 
there were two men with him, but it 
was too dark in the coach to discern their 
faces, and even if the curtains had not 
been tightly drawn, it was too dark in 
the streets to tell directions. 

They came to a halt at last, the muffler 


28 THE CARVED SHOES 

was wound around his head once more, 
and the boy felt himself being led down 
a stone paved lane, and up a short 
flight of stairs. A key turned in a lock, 
someone struck a light, and the muffler 
was removed once more. Doren gave a 
quick glance at his captors. He felt sure 
they were not Hollanders, doubtless some 
of the foreigners who lived along the 
water front. They were heavy set, dark 
men. One of them had silver ear rings 
gleaming among his black curls, and the 
other had a dagger and a silver mount- 
ed pistol shoved into his girdle. He 
seemed the leader, for he gave a short, 
sharp order to the other. “Get the clothes,” 
and then turning to Doren he added, “Take off 
your things — all of them.” 

The boy obeyed. There was something in 


THE CARVED SHOES 


29 


the hard dark face that made him fear to 
refuse. He pulled off his velvet suit, then his 
fine linen under-garments, and dressed 
himself in the ragged and patched suit 
which was given him instead. Even his 
leather shoes were exchanged for heavy 
wooden ones. Then followed a long journey 
in the coach, just how long Doren did not 
know, for he fell asleep at last from sheer 
exhaustion, and was only awakened by a rude 
shake at his shoulder and a gruff order to 
get out. 

Again he was hnstled np a stairway, a 
circular one this time, thrust into a 
dark room, and heard the key click in the 
lock. He felt blindly about in the dark, and 
presently found a sort of rough bunk built 
against the wall. He dropped into it weari- 
ly, and fell sound asleep at once. Not long 


30 THE CARVED SHOES 

before daylight the upper half of his 
door was opened, and a small basket of 
food dropped in. Then Doren heard 
footsteps descend the winding stone stairs, 
a door slammed and there was a 
scraping sound of wheels, which gradual- 
ly grew fainter and fainter and at last died 
away altogether. Then he became aware 
of the strangest crunching and groaning 
of timbers over his head, and tried to 
imagine what it could be. As daylight be- 
gan to appear, objects in his prison became 
more distinct, and Doren looked around 
with interest. The room was empty, 
save for a low stool, a small table, and 
the bunk built against the wall. The 
door was divided into halves, so that the 
upper part could be opened separately, 
but now both sections were securely 


THE CARVED SHOES 


31 


locked. At the opposite side was a case- 
ment window, set rather high in the 
wall. Doren dragged the stool close to 
it,^ climbed up, and with some difficulty 
persuaded the rusty old hinges to turn. 
When the window swung open at last, and 
he had thrust his head outside, he 
knew at last what had caused the creaking 
sound that had so puzzled him. 
s. He was high up in the tower of a very 
large windmill, whose fan-like arms were 
turning around and around in the breeze 
from the distant sea. Far below was a 
wide canal, winding like a silver rib- 
bon through the soft green fields. Not 
as sign of Leiden could be seen. Either 
it was too far away, or in the opposite di- 
rection, but a little way below him on the ca- 
nal Doren could see a small village, red 


32 


THE CARVED SHOES 


roofed, with a neat white ehureh in the mid- 
dle, standing on guard like a shepherd among 
his flock. Little boats were plying up and down 
the canal, and people were moving here 
and there along its banks, so that for 
awhile Doren was very much interested. 
Presently, however, he began to wonder 
what time it was. The big silver watch 
which had been one of his birthday gifts, 
had gone with his clothes, and he 
could only guess by the sun. It must 
be about seven o’clock, he thought. He 
put the basket on the table, drew up 
the stool and ate and drank hungrily from 
the loaf of coarse bread, the hunk of 
cheese, and the bottle of water he found 
in the basket. Then he looked out of 
the window again at the canal, hut 
presently he grew weary of that. How 




ANNEXE WASHING CLOTHES IN THE CANAL 



THE CARVED SHOES 3i 

long would he have to stay here, he won- 
dered. And what eould he do with the 
time? 

Idly his fingers began to seareh his 
pockets, first those in the wide patched 
trousers, then the shabby old coat, then 
the vest. They were all empty. He 
sighed. Even a piece of string would have 
been something to play with. Suddenly 
his fingers found something hard, but with 
a layer of cloth between. Clearly, some- 
thing had worked its way into the fin- 
ing of the vest and had been forgotten. 
For some time Doren worked away at the 
hidden object, then he drew it out to 
the fight with one last triumphant tug. 
At sight of his find, he gave a cry, then 
quickly clapped his hand over his mouth, 
but he need not have feared, for no 


34 THE CARVED SHOES 

one could overhear him at that great 
height. 

In the hoy’s hand lay a jack knife, with 
three good sharp blades, and suddenly he 
caught it close to him, huried his head 

in his arms, and shed the first tears since 
his capture. When the storm of tears had 
passed, he lifted his head and there was a 
new hght in his eyes. Seating himself 

cross-legged on the table, in the direct 
range of the good hght from the win- 
dow, he lifted the stool to his lap, 

turned it upside down and began to 

carve one of its legs, a little smile 

curhng his lips as he worked. 

In Leiden meanwhile, many things had 
happened. Mynheer Terlinder had not 

missed the boy until they had reached 
the carriage door. Poor Mevrouw fell in 


THE CARVED SHOES 


35 


a heap on the stones when she realized 
that he was gone, and Mynheer and the 
eoaehman lifted her into the earriage, and 
she was driven rapidly toward home. She 
went alone, however, for Mynheer him- 
self had started on foot to the headquarters 
of the military guards. He knew ex- 
aetly what had happened, and he knew 
too, exaetly what he meant to do. In 
a few moments he had told his story, and 
with a lantern boy running ahead , and two 
tall soldiers beside him, was hurrying 
toward the street of warehouses, across 
the lane from his own home. 

So it came about that Jan Vedder was 
awakened from sleep at the end of a 
hard day’s work by a fearful pounding 
at the door, and voices crying, “Open 
in the King’s name.” He obeyed with- 


36 THE CARVED SHOES 

out fear, for he was brave, and his 
eonseienee was elear. The next instant he 
found his wrists fettered, and a soldier 
holding him roughly by either arm. Then 
he saw Mynheer Terlinder 

“What does this mean?” he cried. 

“You have stolen my son,” the other 
replied sternly. “Now you are going to 
prison or you will tell us us where you 
have hidden him.” 

In vain Jan pleaded and protested 
his innocence, and little Anneke, who 
had been awakened, and stood beside 
her father, cried bitterly and declared 
hotly that -he had never left the house 
that night, but the soldiers paid no at- 
tention. Had not Vedder been receiving 
gold from the young Master Doren and 
had not Mynheer Terlinder stopped the 


iHE CARYED SHOES 57 

iessoiis? Of course the woodearver had 
stolen the hoy for revenge, and was holding 
him for ransom. 

Jan had hut a moment for a parting 
word with Anneke. “You must go to 
your grandmother till I am free,” he 
said, kissing her. “I will come” — and 
then they dragged him away, and she 
was left alone, huddled in a sohhing heap. 
She lay there until morning, hut with 
the first dim light she began making 
her preparations. Her belongings were 
few — three or four pieees of extra elothing, 
the wooden doll, and a string of earved 
beads that Jan had made for Anneke’s 
mother long years before. They made 
only a little bundle, with Jan’s earving 
tools wrapped carefully in the very mid- 
dle. Then eautiously she pried up a 


38 


THE CARVED SHOES 


loose tile on the hearthstone, and drew 
out a small leather bag. She opened it and 
counted the money. The rent had just been 
paid, so they would still have a home 
when father was free again, and there 
were seventeen small silver coins in the 
bag. 

Anneke forced herself to eat a hasty 
breakfast, shoved the rest of the loaf 
into her bundle, drew the door to, and 
set out on her long trip to Zurtrect, the 
village where her grandmother lived. As 
she passed through the streets of Lei- 
den, she saw on every wall handbills 
which said that Doren Terlinder, son of 
Mynheer Terlinder, had been stolen, and 
offering one thousand guilders for news 
leading to his recovery. 

So a week passed and then another. 






40 THE CARVED SHOES 

Doren began to wonder if he had been 
forgotten. How eould he know of the 
big posters everywhere advertising the big 
reward whieh grew larger as the anxiety 
of Mynheer Terlinder inereased? 

Though the boy was lonely, he was 
so busy now that the days really seemed 
to pass very quiekly. He had a new idea, 
and he was working it out. From his 
prison window he noted earefully every de- 
tail of the distant landseape, a ehureh 
tower of a somewhat peeuliar shape, a big 
house in the little village with the up- 
per story painted bright blue, a small 
dock opposite the mill, with a big green 
boat always tied beside it. And day by day 
he worked at his plan. One morning, 
early, after his captors had driven away, 
and work in the mill below was going on. 


THE CARVED SHOES 


41 


Doren leaned far out of the window and 
peered anxiously in every direction as 
far as he could see. 

Then he bent down, drew off his wooden 
shoes, and leaning out of his casement 
window once more, he hurled them, one 
at a time, as far as he could throw, into 
the canal beneath. They struck with a 
splash, sank, rose again, wabbled, right- 
ed themselves, and floated slowly down 
on the broad surface of the canal toward 
the little village in the distance. Doren 
watched them for a long time, until 
they were mere specks in the water, then 
he sighed, sharpened his knife on the 
rusty hinges of the window, and picking 
up the neglected stool, fell to work 
once more. 

Far off in the village of Zurtrect, little 


42 THE CARVED SHOES 

Anneke too was busy. She had received 
a warm welcome from her grandmother, 
who was poor and old, and daily growing 
more feeble. Anneke did all the house- 
work, making her old grandmother spend 
long hours sitting in the sunshine, 
knitting socks. On Mondays she carried 
their few clothes to the canal, and there 
washed and rinsed them, afterward spread- 
ing them on the grassy banks to dry. 

One day as she knelt on the ground, 
bent over her tub, she lifted her head 
a moment, and saw something floating 
on the surface of the water, then another 
something, two small strange objects. 
Anneke stared at them, then, her curiosity 
aroused, jumped into a boat nearby and 
rowed out into the canal. 

They floated nearer and nearer, and at 
last Anneke leaned far over the gun- 


THE CARVED SHOES 43 

wale and caught them up. They proved 
to be a pair of wooden shoes, but ut- 
terly unlike any that she had ever seen be- 
fore, for they were covered from heel 
to toe with carving, a few crude pic- 
tures, a mill, a church, and long lines 
of letters and words. When the boat 
was tied securely once more, Anneke 
flung herself down in the grass beside her tub, 
and began to read what was carved on 
the wooden shoes. 

A few moments later she came running 
toward the cottage, her face flushed, her 
eyes bright. “Grandmother— grandmother,” 
she cried, “Father will he free now — ^ 
everything’s all right — but I must go to 
Leiden — ^now.” 

She set out on foot a few moments 
later, the precious shoes tied in a cloth, and 


44 


THE CARVED SHOES 


swung over her shoulder. Miles of the 
way she wallced, on feet that grew hourly 
more and more weary and lame. Sometimes 
a friendly carter gave her a lift of a few 
miles, and once she had a hoat ride 

on the canal. It was a strange, dusty 
little figure that finally presented itself 
at the Terlinder home, and fairly 
forced a way to where, in a great bed- 

chamber, the richest man in Leiden sat 
beside his wife’s bedside, patting her 
thin hand, and trying to make his voice 
steady as he told her Doren would soon 

he found. 

Silently Anneke laid the wooden slioes 
on the counterpane, and without a word 
pointed to the strange letters carved on 
them. Then she sank in a little heap 

to the floor, utterly exhausted. 


THE CARVED SHOES 


45 


As lie read the carved words hope came 
hack to Mynheer Terliiider, joy brought 
the color into Mevrouw’s pale cheeks, 

and there was a great stir in the hig 
house. Anneke was lifted tenderly and 

carried to a big cool clean bed, where 
she slept for hours, and woke at last 

to find her father sitting beside her, smil- 
ing and happy, the fetters gone from 
his wrists. 

That night as Doren lay in his 

bunk, not yet asleep, he heard a sud- 
den uproar below him, shouts, curses, 
a loud trampling of feet, the clink of 
chains and suddenly his door was burst 
open with a crash. Mynheer Terlinder 
stood on the threshold, tears running 
down his cheeks, his arms outstretched. 
Doren fairly flew to him, and clung 


46 THE CARVED SHOES 

round his neck sobbing. When they were 
both calmer, the boy told his story, 

and showed the carved stool, now com- 

plete, and the start he had made on the 
table, as a means of passing the long 
days. When he heard how Anneke had 
been the means of finding him, his joy 
knew no bounds. 

Once more Doren went over the cir- 
cular stone stair, free now, his father 

beside him, carrying the carved stool. 
Down in the mill they found three men 
bound hand and foot and closely guard- 
ed, the two who had captured the boy, 
and the miller, who had helped to con- 
ceal him. Doren’s return to his home 
was a triumphant procession, with a happy 
reunion at the end of it. He found 
his little friend Anneke there, in pretty 


THE CARVED SH0E9 47 

aew clothes, radiant with happiness and 
he himself put into her hands a leather 
hag with five thousand guilders in it — 
the reward. 

“It’s all yours,” Mynheer Terlinder 
said gently, as she hesitated, and then 
he went on in a strange voice, one 
that Doren never remembered hearing 
him use before, so low and humble it 
was, “And I am sorry for all I did 
to you — I ask your forgiveness.” 

Happy days were to follow now for An- 
neke and Doren and those who loved 
them. Jan Vedder realized a life’s am- 
bition at last. He became a master 

carver, with a shop full of workmen, 

and coffers that were full of gold. He 

spent the happy days, drawing beautiful 
designs for his men to work out, or 


48 


THE CARVED SHOES 


doing the most delicate bits of some 

specially fine piece. 

Anneke and Doren studied together un- 
der the best tutors in Leiden, and Myn- 
heer and Mevrouw Terlinder found the 
big house brighter for the girl’s sunny 
presence in it. 

Years after when Anneke and Doren 
were grown up and married, and old Myn- 
heer Terlinder held his grandchildren on 
his knees, there was no story he loved 

so well to tell, or they to hear, as the tale 
of how their father carved the wooden 
shoes, and how their mother found them 
in the canal at Zurtrect. And the shoes 

themselves, greatly prized, stood ever in the 
place of honor on the shelf over the 

great fireplace. 



EDA WAITING FOR DIRK TO RETURN WITH 

MYNHEER KAPTAIN 












The Feathered Messenger 

NCE upon a time, there lived in the 



old Dutch eity of Amsterdam, be- 
side the Zuyder Zee, a sea captain, 
named Heinrich Van Der Decken. Though 
he called Amsterdam “home” because 
that was where his httle daughter Eda 
hved with her grandmother, and because 
his heart and thoughts were always 


50 


THE CARVED SHOES 


there, yet he spent fully nine or ten 
months out of eaeh year on his good ship, 
the “Maria Marta,” sailing to and from 
all the distant corners of the world. 
Like all the boats of that time, the 
“Maria Marta” was a sailing vessel. She 
would spread her snowy sails and skim 
lightly over the water like some great 
hird, and the captain would stand at her 
prow and watch the dear shores of Hol- 
land recede, and finally fade away in 
the distance. Somewhere on that van- 
ished shore he knew that his old 
mother, Mevrouw Van Der Decken, with 
little Eda close beside her, was watch- 
ing too, until the Maria Marta was 
only a speck on the waters, and mur- 
muring prayers for a safe voyage and 
a swift return. 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 51 

All his life Captain Van Der Decken 
had heen a sailor, and in time had 
come to own many ships. The many 
voyages he had sailed had made him a 
wealthy man while still a young one, 
and when at thirty, he married Maria 
Marta Schrevvogel, the playmate of his 
childhood, he huilt for her a splendid 
house, three stories high, overlooking the 
water front and the docks. There was 

a big window high up in the very point 
of the gable, where his bride used 
often to sit and look across the Zuyder 

Zee, waiting for a first glimpse of the 

Maria Marta’s sails. 

The captain’s house was one of the 

xnest in Amsterdam. But sorrow came to it 
within two years, only for a little while did 
its mistress preside over it. She had died 


52 


THE CARVED SHOES 


when Eda was but a year old. The house 
and child had been turned over to the care 
of the captain’s adoring mother. 

Despite the loving devotion of her 
grandmother and of her father, on those 
days when he was home from his long 
journeys, despite the fact that her wishes 
and desires were law, the little girl re- 
mained sweet and unspoiled. 

She was not very strong and so was 
not permitted to attend school. Instead, 
a teacher came to the house and his 
only other pupil was Dirk Tanckheere, 
the gardener’s young son, and Eda’s de- 
voted companion. 

The days were not all study and 
work, and part of the two children’s 
play was watching the storks who had, 
year after year, each spring, made their 
home on top of the stable roof. 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 53 

There they had lived for years, going 
south as winter eame on and heralding 
the spring with their return. 

The spring when Eda was ten and 
Dirk thirteen, there was one stork unlike 
all the rest in the nest of birds. 
A black collar around his neck and 
one of his wings was also black. He was 
easily recognized by the children there- 
after, as the young storks having learned 
to fly, clouded the sky at all times of 
the day. They felt as if he belonged es- 
pecially to them and Eda named him 
Mynheer Kaptain in honor of her father. 

One day, Eda and Dirk, hearing the 
dear, familiar rustle of wings, came forth 
to greet their feathered friends. 

But great was their dismay when they 
noted that Mynheer Kaptain was not 
among them. 


54 THE CARVED SHOES 

“He’s been shot— I know he’s been 
killed,” cried Eda and she began to sob 
as if her heart would break. 

“Don’t — please don’t,” said Dirk to 
her. “I’ll find him.” His face was white 
and tense and without another word he 
set forth in search of their friend. 

Late afternoon, he returned bringing 
Mynheer Kaptain, one wing filled with 
shot, with him. Only through a seeming 
miracle had he found him. 

Mynheer Kaptain’s wing healed splen- 
didly. Dirk had heen a good surgeon. 
But very soon it was evident that it would 
he a long time before he would fly 
again, perhaps he never would. The big 
bird would flutter about on the grass in the 
garden with Dirk and Eda watching 
him from the summer-house, and the 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 55 


stork family would sail around and around 
him, high overhead. There came at last 
a day when the feathered family formed 
a long line and headed due south with 
Mr. Stork at their head, and the others 
trailing after, hut there were only seven 
in the line instead of eight. Mynheer 

Kaptain still could not fly. 

Wlien the cold weather came in earnest, 
Dirk built a box nest, filled it with 

straw and sticks, then nailed it to the 
wall close behind the big porcelain stove 
in the Janckheere rooms above the 
stables. During the day the big bird 

would stalk around the coachman’s house, 
soon coming to feel feel quite at home 

there, and at night Dirk would lift him 
gently into his box and cover him with 
a bit of wool blanket. 


56 


THE CARVED SHOES 


He was even allowed the freedom of the 
hig house, at Eda’s demand, for she 

had grown very fond of the strange 

pet. He was beeoming 'more tame all 
the time, and learned to eome at once 
on hearing a certain peculiar whistle 

that Dirk made up for him, and would 
even eat sugar and cake from Eda’s 

fingers quite as a dove might have 
done. 

So winter passed, and gradually the days 
began to grow warmer. Then one morn- 
ing, as old Mevrouw Van Der Decken 
sat sewing in the gable room, often 
lifting her eyes between stitches to peer 
out across the Zuyder Zee, suddenly she 
gave a cry of joy, and flinging open a win- 
dow at the back, overlooking the garden 
she called, “Eda — Dirk — the Maria Marta 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 57 

is coming in.” They dashed up the 
three flights and sat for an hour wateh- 
ing the eaptain’s ship come in. 

When he was home at last, and had 
been weleomed and feasted, Eda dragged 
him gaily to the garden, and told him 
all about the stork whieh had been 
named for him, and Dirk interrupted to 
tell how bravely Eda had helped dress 
the wing. The eaptain listened with 
glowing eyes, and when the story was 
finished, winked knowingly at Dirk. 
Then he drew from his poeket a fine 
gold ehain and locket, and a small gold 
bracelet with a elasp. 

‘T meant this bracelet for you, 
Eda,” he said, “but I suppose you’ll be 
giving it to that wonderful bird for a 
collar.” 


58 THE CARVED SHOES 

It was a great idea. Eda was delighted, 
and Dirk eaught up Mynheer Kaptain 
who was strutting about the garden and 
eoeking his head at them now and then 
almost as if he knew he was being 
diseussed. The boy held him up so that 
Eda might elasp the bracelet around his 
feathery neck. It fitted nicely, and the 

children decided it was most becoming, 
especially when the pale spring sunshine 
glinted on the gold. 

That very day Mynheer Kaptain made 
a short flight off the ground. Dirk and 
Eda could scarcely believe their eyes. 
The next day he was at it again, and 
each day he rose a little higher until 
at last he could sail around the house 
top quite easily, and up to the old 
nest. But he would always come at 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 59 

sound of the whistle Dirk had made 

up for him, and he was as tame as 
ever. 

Then a week or so later there was an- 
other home-coming at the Van Der 
Decken home. Mr. and Mrs. Stork and 
their family came flying back from the 
south, and there were five strange birds 
with them. And what a twittering and 
a fluttering there was about the old nest 
then! How excited they all were at see- 
ing their stay-at-home brother! Then 
there was the keenest interest in his 

gold collar, too, and everyone of them 
pecked inquisitively at it with his long 
sharp bill. On their winter travels the 

five young birds had selected mates — 
that explained the five strange birds — • 
and soon they were all at work mak- 



MYNHEER KARTAIN WAS THE ONLY BACHELOR 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 61 


ing new homes, one pair on the house 
roof, another on the stable, and three 
direetly aeross the street, on the houses 
of neighbors. But Mynheer Kaptain, the 
only bachelor, made his home with his 
parents in the old nest. 

It was a happy summer at the Van Der 
Decken home. Early in August the 
captain began to have long talks with 
his mother, and after each of these 
conversations the good lady would ap- 
pear with tear-reddened eyes. Then one 
day Eda was summoned to one of 
these secret conferences. 

“How would you like to go on a 
long cruise with me?” the captain asked 
as the little girl came into the room. “I 
want to see your cheeks get red and 
round as apples.” 


62 


THE CARVED SHOES 


The child gave a run and skip of pure 
joy, and flung herself into his arms, 

her eyes shining like stars. “Oh, father!” 
she said-“jnst that.” 

So then we find Eda on her way to 

foreign ports, past Belgium and Spain 
and into the Mediterranean Sea. So 

months passed and for Eda they were filled 
with the joy and excitement of change 
and interest. 

But one day a half dozen storks flew 
south high above her head. From that 
moment Eda grew more and more home- 
sick. 

It made the captain wretched to see his 
child sad, yet he could not turn back. 

Onward they went past the GuW of 
Aden, beyond the Red Sea. Eda tried 
hard to be brave and overcome her 
homesickness. 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 63 

So they arrived at Alexandria. At first 
she was so interested she forgot to be 
homesick, but only for a httle while. 
Her cheeks grew less and less rosy and 

the food on her plate remained un- 
touched. Pol Putzen, sailorman, her special 
favorite, was almost as worried as her 
father. She told him one day that she 

was sure their own storks were among 
the birds flying south overhead. 

When the Maria Marta was moored 
at a coast town in Egypt, Pol Potzen 
asked for shore leave, and went early 
in the morning. At nightfall he had 

not returned, and the ship was forced 
to lay over for the night. It was noon 
of the following day when at last he 

made his appearance on board. The captain 
had been amazed at Pol’s absence, for he was 



EDA CAUGHT HIM UP IN HER ARMS 









THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 65 


the best man in the crew and the 
longest in his service, and now, frown- 
ing angrily, he stood waiting on the 
deck, as Pol made his way up the gang- 
plank, carrying a strange bundle. Eda 
had joined her father, eager to plead 
for Pol’s forgiveness. The sailor was 
carefully unwinding the queer bundle, 
and at last he laid it gently on the deck. 
Eda and the captain gave a cry of 
amazement. It was Mynheer Kaptain! 

His feet were tied together so he could 
not get away, and he began to flutter 
wildly as soon as his head was un- 
covered. But Eda had rushed to where 
he lay, caught him up in her arms, and 
was hugging and kissing him wildly, her 
face aglow with joy. 

“You can put me in the hold now in 


66 THE CARVED SHOES 

irons, sir,” Pol was saying to the cap- 

tain. “I saw the birds yesterday, and I 
planned to go ashore and snare one and 
bring it aboard for the little lady. And 
I did have one, too, a regnlar beauty — ^when 
I saw this fellow, and thought I recog- 

nized him. Then I followed him for 
miles. I thought I’d never get him — he 

was that crafty — but I did at last — well, 
I’m ready, sir.” 

Of course there was no punishment 
for Pol — indeed he was quite the hero 
of the ship. Someone found a strong 
fine chain, and fastened it around the 
stork’s leg with an iron ring. Just at 

first it seemed to bother him a little, 
and he made several attempts to fly 
away to shore, but at last he settled 
down to a life on deck, and seemed as 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 67 


tame and contented as he had been in 
the garden in Amsterdam. 

Eda was completely cured of her home- 
sickness, now. All day long she played on 
deck in the warm sunshine with Myn- 
heer Kaptain. Her thin little arms and 
legs grew round and firm, her cheeks 
were as red as apples, and once more 
the voyage seemed like a long picnic. 
They reached the Gulf of Aden at last, 
unloaded their cargo and took on a new 
one and then began the long voyage 
home. By the time they had again 
reached Alexandria spring had come, and 
great flights of storks kept passing over- 
head, steering straight for the north. 

Then Mynheer Kaptain began to grow 
restless. He twitched and pulled at his 
cliain now — he would not eat — he was al- 


68 THE CARVED SHOES 

most cross to Eda. At first she was 
quite hurt by his change of maimer, 
then suddenly she realized that he too, 
was homesick, just as she had been. It 
was hard to lose him, he had been such 
a comfort, but they were homeward 
bound, and so Eda formed a plan. 

She unclasped the gold locket and 
ehain that hung about her neek, hur- 
ried to her eabin, and was very busy 
with pencil and paper for several min- 
utes. Then she went to the eaptain and 
told him of her decision. He was sur- 
prised, yet somehow, greatly pleased, at the 
little girl’s unselfish kindness to the 
homesick stork. Together they wound 
the chain and locket tightly about his 
gold eollar, and fastened it with a bit 
of string. Then Pol Putzen filed away 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 69 

the iron ring that held the ehain to the 
stork’s leg, and Mynheer Kaptain was 
free. 

He did not seem to realize it all at onee, 
but stalked about the deck looking up when- 
ever a flight of his fellows passed overhead. 
Then suddenly he spread his great 
wings, and sailed straight up, high 
above the ship, and he too, headed straight 
for home and Holland. Eda and her father 
and the sailors watched him until he 
was only a speck in the distance, then 
the men went back to work, but now they 
often sang as they scrubbed the decks or 
hauled at the ropes, for they too were go- 
ing home. 

Dirk Janckherre was helping his father 
spade up the garden the day the storks 
came home. It had been a long and 


70 


THE CARVED SHOES 


lonely winter for him as it had been 
for mevrouw, and the return of the 
dear familiar birds was a great event, 
promising, somehow, that the Maria Mar- 
ta was also on her homeward way. 
With a radiant face he stood watching 
them as they circled about their nests. 
Mynheer Kaptain was not with them, 

but Dirk knew he would come. He had 
never been able to fly as rapidly as 
the other birds, since the injury to his 
wing, and when they had gone south 

in the fall, he had been at the tail 
end of the line. 

It was several days later before he came 
straggling wearily in. Dirk had been 

watching for him, and when he appeared at 
last, the boy gave the queer low whistle. 
The next moment Mynheer Kaptain flut- 


THE FEATHERED MESSENGER 71 

tered down into the garden and Dirk 
had his faee buried in the soft feathers. 
Presently the hand that was stroking 
the smooth neck, felt something strange 
around the gold collar. Dirk was in- 
tensely excited when he discovered the 
locket, and holding the stork tightly in 
his arms he called loudly for mevronw, 
for Jan, for Kirsten. 

With all the household standing around 
watching eagerly, Dirk cut the string with 
his penknife, and untwisted the chain. 
Then he released the bird gently, and 
with trembling fingers opened the lock- 
et. There was a tiny strip of folded paper 
in it, and when it was spread out, they 
read over each other’s shoulders, in 
Eda’s round childish writing: 

“Dear Grandmother: Mynheer Kaptain 


72 


THE CARVED SHOES 


has been with me all winter. I was 
very homesick until he came. Now he 
is homesick, too, so I am letting him 
go. Bnt we are coming home soon. I 

send my love to Dirk. Tell him I miss 

him very much. Your loving granddaughter, 
Eda.” 

Then came the day, soon after, when 

the great ship came slowly up the har- 
bor. Two figures stood high on the 
bridge, a tall bearded man and a little 

girl in a scarlet coat.. They were Myn- 
heer Kaptain and Eda, returned at last. 


* • .ii’ 

. , 'fr 

^ ' 




r,- 




4 r*“ 0 > ) 

“w A 

U:'y .i.** 


s 

* ’^' .. 


r V ■• 







Af "4 ", r-. 

f *"r f f 


W’' 






% ^ 

9 


* f 


if '■ 





4 «r 






✓ 






•'I’ 


•♦ > 



< 1 , 


I ^ 






o 



.V 





>. »• 






-'V 




/ 


■■Jt 







t 


■ ■.-An_ 

- 'lS 

*r,^r 1 

1 . J r *w 


Ti 


I t 




A 



k; 

% '• 


il"'-' 

t ‘ ' '■ 


- m 

*. 

r S' 

' % 

iC ' 

’V % -Hk 

**t- 



♦ 


‘ y'* .'. 

f j:i>Cir»^ < ii 


v> 


a 




r 




'' ,# 


- 1 


t#> 


. h 





••i ■». 


I * 









._ « 


Lr. 


/ 




I » 




I • 




‘ W\ 


> 


^syi * A 


. ‘I. 


k«* K 


> * 


* • k» 


f a 


" * i r^ . 

' «Tii I:. ^ li A 


•. • 


i.*fc i’ 










;i(is< j&e. _’.- 

i->un 

f<fO 'p 1 

- - a 

H* I^^^rl;^ r .i ., ,_ 

[(Jfc 


or^?.': 

CQ<Nf' 


I U ^ 

I 

) 4 V ^ W 1^ ‘‘^ 

) s J 5 « I Cj p . • o jy 

« i ' I--, ,r ^ -a y 

!■< 'i? K ^1 r i ? t -C 




S flfc jn rv' • ‘t! 

SCKO^K^rpM^ 

&< f 4 - 

1 ' V 


|f' 0 i«CPs 

W^V( ji] 


i 4 {!!tB.?^»:.% 1 '; 


u^^aOdv ^VWII 

V ♦v-'V ' A'C' 

p\mm 


. ■«: -;-'-; -:;i 0 j'.ft ;4 

It* iVji rtoaifi j > i; A'ilffr 

Kc fi- 6 < 447 <V^^ ’J 

|j-v^ ;$ (3ii ^tftiVli T'-QaafilY &- ^'11 * 9 

■■Hlu, . ^ h ^-ti! O 

nSHi^ .c i ^ ^ 44Lr 

ehk^m 


\ ■, , 4 i:K\j;*^ 

:;.!::r.!]«' 




W; 


Vf iUi'iri 


>« ti lii*^*;* i'« 

U A.t k^''t'>' './< M 


4 














